Beneath the Same Stars
by AwkwardTurtles101
Summary: He would rather see you dead than let you touch his icy heart. AkashixOC
1. Prologue

**Hey guys, good to see you again. I know this isn't much, but I don't have time today to establish a proper chapter :D**

**This is an AkashixOC fanfiction. It'll be intense; as are my plans.**

**Love you all, and please review with any criticisms, ideas, hopes, whatever because I'll appreciate it very much!**

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[o]

**Beneath the Same Stars**

**Prolouge**

**I**

[o]

He didn't remember, but he couldn't forget.

Alone, in his room, sleep did not take him. He wished it would.

There were no marks of brutality in the house. Only stillness, which dawned into insanity.

No music played in the house, or ever in the grounds. No one swam in the pools that boasted only the best. No one danced, or sang. No one ever talked, only whispered behind curtains, whispered things that he could never hear. People walked in the shadows, but they walked where he could not see. They made no movement, or sound, and sometimes, he doubted if they were really there. But then they would whisper things that were never really whispered, things that only he could here. And then he'd know. He'd know that he was alone.

No matter how many woman or girls he took, it was always the same. His urges were never quelled, and they burned with malice, burned with poison.

At school, he was respected, by peers and teachers, but it was with fear. At home, he was ignored by his father. The one person, he believed, that could salvage the wreck that he had become. He kept up appearances; got perfect marks. Attention was what he craved; water to his dying plant. He turned in his bed, the house silent. Silent since his mother left; since her presence had vanished, every photograph, painting, keepsake of hers had gone.

He was alone, and sleep did not take him. He wished it would, just like it took his mother.

[o]

Miles away, but underneath the same stars, even in the hour of the dead of night, where nothing but the moon is alive, someone else stirred in their slumber. The room was much less grand than the boy's; there were three cheap beds and the paint was peeling in the room. The carpet was threadbare and there was only a small, shattered window. This person who had awoken now walked to the window in loud silence, footfalls gentle against the ground. The person passed two beds; each with two others in them, then turned their head to the sky to marvel at the stars that watched silently from the heavens. Poor man or a rich man, the person thought, we are underneath the same stars.

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**It seems we meet again; strangers in this world for but one thing. **

**Reviews are my drug and makes me write faster. **

**This is for ya'll out there. **

**xx**


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Holy Cow this is longer than I wanted it to be. But I couldn't really let this chapter finish without introducing the Emperor himself, now could I?

**This contains swearing, etc. **

I want to dedicate this to for being totally awesome. This would've come out sooner but _someone_ didn't like it...

**Please review, follow/fav or just give me some criticisms and I will love you forever!**

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**Beneath the Same Stars**

**Chapter 1**

[o]

The dream was the same as the last had been. Eyes, watching her, watching and waiting. They stared without seeing into the darkness, haunted by things that were not there. They followed her through shadows, expressionless, cold. Then the screaming started. Her mother, first, loud and clear, a scream that has lost all hope, a howl of terror. Then her father and brother, terrified. She began running, running, running, through the trees which scraped her face, wanting to save them, wanting to be brave. Then her grandmother, ancient and frail, a scream which chilled every bone in her body, a scream without hope. A scream, a cry, of one that has seen too much in this life. Then it stopped. It wasn't the screams that terrified her; it was the plunging silence that followed them. Hands would begin tearing at her face, her hair, her shoulders, pulling and scratching, words of malice gliding over her, until she was drowning in them. Then...nothing. Silence. Tentatively, she walked forward, her feet making no sound. One more scream filled the air, and it was louder, clearer. It was a scream that reminisced everything that they had lost, the people, the health, ebbing away bit by bit, until the madness was on edge. It was hers.

[o]

"Akako!"  
I awoke, standing, the moonlight falling on my face in the darkness, the stars in my eyes, and I was screaming. I gasped, reality like a cold wave on my face, refreshing. I fell forward, my hands scratching on the broken glass and rusted metal of the window, blood drawing, the colour of fallen roses. My brother looked up at me, only three years younger, but eyes full of budding concern, eyes too old for any boy.

"Sleeping walking again?" he asked, his voice strained. My mother and father stirred in their beds; my grandmother still slept soundly, but her face was clenched in an emotional pain that plagued her. Takeshi, my brother, frowned.

"Let me bandage your hands, Akako."

I inclined my head. That was the third night in the row that my sleepwalking has awoken the family. Gently, Takeshi took my hands in his, and took the glass out carefully, his face deep in concentration, careful not to hurt me anymore than he had to. He took longer than usual, and reassured our parents until they slept.

"It'll get better, Akako," he said, his voice calming me gently. "I promise."

But I was sure it was a promise that could not be kept.

[o]

A drop of water hit me on the nose.

"Shit!"

Then another, and another.

"Fuck!"

It began raining steadily, the rain bouncing off the ground like miniature ballerinas. The sky had turned grey in a matter of seconds, the colour of my second hand school shirt. Fuck! My shirt. It was soaked, and was sticking to my chest and upper body. My blazer has turned dark blue, instead of the traditional light blue that it was. Alas; looks like my first day was gonna be shit. Shit, shit, shit, fuck.

A car turned around the corner, sleek and black like a panther waiting to pounce. A limousine? Mercedes? Maybe. God knows. I stuck my thumb out in vacant hope.

The car drove nearer, shining in the dull light of the sun and the layer of water that glossed over it. The windows were tinted, and it purred through the street. I couldn't make out the face in front; it was obscured by the glass.

The car, which I was expecting to stop, only sped up, and a wave of water towered of me and hit me on the face. My uniform now resembled mud, and the cold water dripped off and made me shiver. I couldn't get sick, otherwise I couldn't tutor and work my at my job.

"Asshole!" I screamed in English, my voice already sounding strangled, and I put the middle finger up at the car, "you fucking bastard!"

[o]

The laughter echoed over the courtyard; loud, oppressing and cruel.

"Number eleven!"

They laughed again. It wasn't even funny.

Then they screamed it, their screeches of laughter echoing of the students who had now fallen silent. Heads turned to me; everyone's eyes superior, rich and better in every way. But they didn't worry me.

What worried me was my work hours; as the scholarship student that I was, I had to participate in a minimum of three sports and a minimum of three activities within the school, as well as maintaing a perfect score across all subjects. I would have to limit work hours; my parents might struggle even more and the workload would be shifted to my brother.

There's not much for it. The poverty cycle sucks.

"Number eleven!"

"Will you please shut the fuck up?"

Their stupid little faces paled to the colour of powered chalk and they scurried away like little crabs. It wasn't my fault that I had to walk to school. The bus and train were pricey and we didn't have a car. If only I could have worked harder, or not been so demanding when I was younger, then my parents could have a proper job and be happier, and we wouldn't be stuck in this hell hole. If only it hadn't been my fault.

Absent-mindedly, my fingers danced up my left arm.

One, for Maise.

Two, for Sam.

Three, for my sister Yui.

Four, for my pet hamster, Tinkerbell.

Five, for my grandfather, my sofu.

And it was all my fault.

I remembered the cutting.

The knife through the blood.

Guiding me.

Telling me why I did wrong.

Making me feel better.

Comforting me.

I had stopped. But the memories still lurked.

"Hey! Hey you, scholarship girl!"

I snapped out of my thoughts and my head jumped up, my fingers darting away from my left arm awkwardly.

"What do you want?"

The girl that had been running through the puddles of water stopped in front of me.

"Hi."

"Hey."

She was pretty; fair blonde hair, obviously not Japanese. American, probably. Her wide eyes portrayed no hint of unkindness, and she stood taller than me. A model, perhaps?

"I'm Rose."

She spoke in English, her baby blue eyes crinkling into a wide smile. Her uniform was perfect; she was a third year. A prefect. I didn't offer a reply to her though.

"You should probably move from here. Those bitchy girls will be back."

Maybe I had been wrong about her.

"You shouldn't swear, though."

Or maybe I hadn't.

"It's a habit," I said in English. "Can't not swear. Sorry." I walked with her in silence, listening to our footfalls in the puddles, watching little fences of water form in the air each time our feet hit the ground.

"It's alright."

Rose had led me to the library; the rows of books were welcoming, each story a different world, where each author has poured in their soul. The library was practically empty, and a calm aurora hovered over the room. Rose handed me a sheet absentmindedly, her neck craning over the shelves of books. I glanced down.

"Basketball sign ups."

"Huh?"

"You play basketball, right?"

"Yeah."

"So join."

"What if I don't want to?"

She turned her head and glared at me. "You will because you have to. We may be into the second term, but you're still joining. And if you don't," Rose continued, eyeing my look of disproval, "I'll tell those bitches just where to find you."

"That's _blackmail_!"

"That's how everything gets done around here," she said, her head turning and looking over the bookshelves again. I looked with her, annoyed at her insistence.

"I wouldn't say _that_," a new voice said, smoothly and melodically, like red silk against a azure blue sky.

We turned in unison; Rose, flushed, and myself, interested.

He stood shorter than myself, but with as much air and grace of that as a King. He held himself with ease, relaxed but poised. His skin, like freshly fallen snow, betrayed no imperfections, and his uniform was perfect. He demanded attention and respect, but he made me feel cold and ill at ease.

"Akashi. Um. Hi."

"Hello, Rose."

His eyes slid past me with disinterest, and back up to Rose, who cleared her throat and spoke again. She did not meet his eyes.

"Hi," she said, pink blossoming in her cheeks like blooming roses in Spring, "can I help?"

"No," he said quietly, but every head in the library had turned, "just wondering if I would see you at my next game."

Something told me he didn't wonder; he demanded.

"Of course," she said, inclining her head even further.

"Good," he said, and slipped away, but not before I could catch a glimpse of his face. Red hair, the colour of blood, and two eyes. Those eyes; gold and red; heartless, cruel and imposing.

When I was sure he was gone, I turned to speak to Rose, but she beat me to it.

"That's the Akashi."

_Who?_

"He didn't seem very nice. I hope you don't like him," I said, my voice barely audible. Rose hadn't brought me to the library for myself; she was hoping to find him.

She smiled, as if reassuring herself. "Of course not."

I didn't believe her.

She was lying.

The smile didn't reach her eyes, and the truth was always in the eyes.

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**Yeah, so like I said, this is way longer than I wanted it to be. If you review, imma love you forever :D**


	3. Chapter 2

**Ohmigod I actually did two chapters in one week. HOLLA!**

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**(0)**

**Beneath the Same Stars**

**Chapter 2**

**II**

**(0)**

Akashi sat in his room. He wasn't alone; his en suite light flickered on and someone busied themselves in there. But on his bed, he felt like the only person on the world. Not in it; on it, like his presence was only merely a dream to be disfigured, where his fingertips dragged on pond water, which rippled gently and faded as if he had never been there.

Tonight, though, tonight; there were tears in his eyes. They were angry tears; tears of emotional and physical pain, of scars that could be broadcasted to the world. He stood in front of the mirror.

What he saw was a boy; a boy in a man's world, too young to understand and too old to be fearless. He looked perfect; white skin, the colour of snow, and hair like blood, a few scarlet drops on the first snowfall, to the dedication and persistence of death. His eyes, one gold, one red, shone with tears from the candle in his room. The candle that was his only source of light. It flickered across his face and cast shadows, making boy seem like demon in a matter of seconds. His – his _shell_ that he lived in, his consciousness pervaded, was perfect, flawless – on the outside.

Inside, he was haunted. His masquerade of perfection that he kept up was only being shabbily held together by pieces of frail string.

A tear escaped his eyes and rolled slowly down his perfect face.

He was broken.

He pulled his black shirt off, and suddenly he seemed more vulnerable. Maybe it was the absence of a bold, dominating colour or maybe it was the bruises and scars on his back. Hundreds of them, the oldest ones scars, the newest and the recent; fresh, barely four hours old, and the second oldest, barely three days. Black, purple, blue; his back was a canvas in which his father painted with rude, harsh strokes; each time a new memory, each time breaking him a little further. Whether it was a belt or a cane; each drew screams of agony from his lips.

_And there he lay; his father stopped, the belt hanging limply from his hand, and the fear in the room so thick it was possible to drown. Seijuro's father did not speak; merely threw the belt down in disgust and kicked his only son in the ribs; a moan escaped the younger Akashi's lips and he lay, shattered, on the ground. His face was blotchy with a blur of tears; his normally pale face red, and his eyes closed in pain. _

_Senior Akashi left the room, slamming the door behind him._

_The younger Akashi was shirtless; his body red from the beating, and in some places, vivid with the colour of his scarlet blood. Akashi's fists were clenched; his face screwed up, whimpering in fear. _

_He was broken. _

_The beatings were becoming more frequent; they were worse when the business failed, and practically nonexistent if it was successful that week. His father criticised his every flaw with a watchful eye and cruel tongue; if he made a mistake, he would pay in the worst way possible. _

_Time passed; the sun sank lower and the moon rose; and the younger Akashi did not have the strength to stir. He tried to rise, but his arms failed him and he sank back to the floor, gritting his teeth and new tears flowing down his face. _

_He screamed and moaned; a low, hurtful sound, like a lone, wounded wolf. He was in agony; the pain had not faded, and the memories of the previous ones still bit into his skin. _

_His father had found a flaw and punished him for it, and he had suffered dearly. _

_Sometimes there wasn't an excuse; his father would summon him to his room. The younger Akashi always tried to delay the process, taking longer to eat, always chewing more steadily, trying to think of ways to talk himself out of it. _

_It never worked._

_He would always bring the food back up afterwards and struggle to sleep that night. His father never allowed him any pain relief, and Seijuro would always cry and bite his pillow into the night. _

_Rarely, but sometimes, his father would beat him without warning. A slap was the minimum; Senior Akashi was strong and his son would always fall to the ground, clutching his cheek._

_It was always the emotional pain that made him cry. _

_But sometimes it was the only way to get noticed by his father. _

_He was broken._

Akashi stared into the mirror, his lips forming incomprehensible sounds. He was broken; just like his mother had been before she died.

He traced a bruise on his shoulder with a delicate finger.

Everyone close to him hurt him.

His father.

His mother.

Even himself.

Or maybe he hurt them.

The tears began falling again; steadily, like rain, down his perfect face.

"Seijuro?"

A woman's voice called him from the en suite. In the candle light, Akashi could see that she was naked, her blonde hair curling gently down her back, and her blue eyes wide.

"Call me Akashi. And I will not be needing your company tonight."

It surprised him how easily he slipped into cold pretence.

The blonde girl's lip quivered, and she her hands dropped nervously by her sides.

"B-but, Seijuro..."

"I told you to call me Akashi, Rose. You may go. I will not be needing you tonight."  
She wailed, and grabbed a bundle of clothing and slipped out the door, her hiccups and tears betraying her in the otherwise silent house.

Akashi sighed and extinguished the candle with two long, pale fingers.

He heard the front door slam in quick succession.

The darkness flooded the room, and Akashi could feel another presence in the room. It towered over him, scraping along the floor with long fingernails. He did not see them, but he knew them. He knew them from the way they watched; he knew them from the way they whispered to him at night, things so dark only a demon could know them. He knew them from the way that their laughter followed him, and he knew them from the way they walked beside him.

And he knew them from the way that they had come from him.

Akashi screamed; terrified.

He was broken.

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**Pweease?**


	4. Chapter 3

Hey guys, this ones for **Kintoki Kin **:D** don't forget to review**

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**(o)**

**Beneath the Same Stars**

**Chapter 3**

**III**

**(o)**

"Hey, Akako. Can I talk to you?"

I walked off the basketball court, my shoes making little squeaks on the floorboards, sweat dribbling down my face. The blonde stood there, dressed in uniform, even though it was a Sunday. She didn't meet my gaze; only dropped her head so her blonde hair trickled in front of her eyes. Her hands were clenched and her fists white.

"Sure, Rose. What's up?"

She flipped her hair back; I saw her normally composed face pool into madness, and tears falling down her face at a steady beat. Rose's eyes were closed; and when they opened to look at me, I saw raw emotions behind her heavily lidded eyes, namely anger.

"Dude, you alright?"

I didn't feel the need to be formal with her, and I placed a tentative hand on her tense shoulder.

"No!" She yelled; the tears falling faster, "that bastard! He - he took…"

Rose crumbled and fell to the floor, her head in her hands, where she rocked back and forth, mumbling, leaving my bandaged hand hovering awkwardly in the air, so I dropped it and crouched next to her, my voice barely above a whisper in the silent basketball court.

"What, Rose? What did he take?"

The look she gave me was one that answered my question that hovered in the air. Her eyes implied the truth; and she looked at me with such emotion I almost crumbled myself.

"Isn't it obvious?" She croaked, still slumped on the floor. "He took my pride...my honour."

I began to shake from head to toe. Her voice flowed over me, truth like daggers against my skin. This wasn't your everyday high school drama; this was something different all together.

"We have to tell someone. He can't get away with this."

"Don't be silly, Akako," she whispered, through her tears, "he stood me up."

_What?_

Rose continued: "we fucked, after the game...then I went back the next day and he stood me up."

She succumbs beneath a wave of tears, and grasps her hair in big knots, her shoulders slumped forward.

"So Akashi - he didn't - take it...forcefully?"

"No!" she yelled, "I gave it to him. Willingly, like a fool. I thought he loved me! But...he's a bastard. A fucking bastard!"

"A virginity stealing fucking bastard," I whispered under my breath.

"Yes," Rose said, breathless from tears. Had she heard me? She swallowed her tears and looked up at me, her eyes still shining delicately from the light of day outside. "I want revenge."

I shrugged. Girls and their dramas. "Sounds good to me."

(o)

The cafe bustled with noise and people. The midday light blasted through the large glass window, and the smell of bakery and fresh finger buns steamed through the store. The cafe workers busied themselves by the counter, and the whir of the coffee machines could be heard throughout the store.

I led Rose to the table by the the window. She was shivering, and I had draped my jumper around her frame. Her eyes didn't seem to acknowledge the other people, instead they drifted; like the flow of water, over their heads. Rose's face betrayed no emotion, but when we sat, she sighed, scraping her chair towards the table and burying her face in her hands, taking no notice of me.

"Akako-nee!"

I glanced up at my brother, smiling stiffly, and spoke in English. "Hey."

"You alright, sis?" Takeshi balanced his tray on our table, his dark hair escaping from his ponytail and falling in front of his face. His green eyes were curious; and they wondered over Rose with blatant interest dawning on his face. He gave a crooked smile.

"Hey," he said softly, bending down to Rose's eye level, although her head was still supported by her hands, "are you okay?"

Rose sniffed and glanced up at my brother, who offered her a hot cup of tea. She took it at smiled gratefully, her eyes glancing at my brother with a new spark. Takeshi walked back over to the counter and addressed another customer, but not before throwing another rolling glance back at Rose, who matched it, and blushed.

She turned back to me, colour finally blossoming in her cheeks. "Is he your brother? He's so cute!"

I almost gagged.

The door to the cafe swung open and two figures entered the cafe, deep in conversation. Silence bristled over the cafe; even those who sat outside turned their heads to watch them walk in idly; those that waited in line moved to offer them the front of line. It seemed even the coffee makers bubbled to a halt for their entrance.

One stood taller than the other; with ease he towered, long black hair falling to his neck, and gentle eyes surveying the hushed group of people with apparent ease, his long eyelashes curling with every blink. He turned his head - and I swear time slowed, the seconds ticking by like minutes - and looked at me, his gentle eyes roaming Rose's figure, and then interlocking with my eyes for one beat, two beat, three beat. He didn't drop the gaze; instead raised his hand and tapped his friend on the shoulder - where, I swear that his friend winced, ever so slightly, and the dark haired one did not notice - and gestured to our table with a quiet, stiff gesture. His friend was surprised, but the taller one whispered in his ear, and turned - the red haired friend turning with him - and I locked eyes with the Emperor.

It was Akashi.

Conversation slowly bubbled up again, but my gaze was held in trance by heterochromatic eyes. They seemed to gaze it my soul, cold and measuring. The light seemed to fade, and all other existence cease. I could feel my heartbeat slowing and changing to a different rhythm. The ground seemed to fall away and he approach. I felt like I could no longer hold my gaze, but something inclined me to. I held it for longer, memorising the impending gaze, the contrast of red and gold. I felt him watching, judging, thinking, criticising every flaw and observing my strengths. Calculating, cold.

I memorised his face. The curve of his perfect nose, the colour of his lips, the way his eyelashes curled against the white of his face. The way his mouth was perfectly set at his face, and they way that his hair fell over his forehead.

I gasped and I struggled, and my gaze shattered like glass against the floorboards of the cafe. But I felt his gaze still linger; taking in my face, my body, every inch of myself; to my clothes, and the tears and rips in them; the flaws in my hair, the scuffs on my shoes. He kept looking, his gaze burning. Longer he looked; it seemed he was unwilling to break it.

"Akako? Is everything okay?" Rose asked, placing her cup of tea with a gentle clack of the coffee table, turning behind her with a casual glance.

All the colour drained from her face; and Akashi's gaze finally broke and his gaze moved to Rose; he seemed to stiffen, his posture become straighter and emotion fall away from his gaze - wait. Had there been emotion before? - and he turned away, back to his taller friend, and whispered something incomprehensible. Akashi turned back, and faced me again, with pain in his eyes,

Rose stood silently, her lips forming incomprehensible words as she scraped her chair back. Her tea fell to the floor with a clatter, and the brown liquid spread on the floor. With a muffled cry, Rose placed her hand over her mouth and shoved past the other customers, elbowing Akashi, who remained perfectly still. She pushed the door open and fell I to the street.

My brother glanced up, and at the customer he was serving. Throwing me a despairing glance, he put the tray he was holding down and followed the blonde onto the street.

I blinked, and the cafe sank into a normal beat again. I was sitting alone at the table, and Rose and my brother were gone. Akashi and his friend still lurked at the other side of the store, their gazes heavy. My brothers tray lay discarded on a nearby table. I rolled onto my feet and picked up the tray with a heavy heart; I worked here on weekends. As I stooped to collect discarded cups and to clean up the tea that was spilling onto the floor; I glanced up.

Akashi was watching.


	5. Chapter 4

**I wrote this while watching the Spy Next Door. Jackie Chan is the man. **

**I also felt like stepping it up a level. Everything will be explained next chapter. **

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**(o)**

**Beneath the Same Stars**

**Chapter 4**

**IV**

**(o)**

I couldn't see him; but I still felt his gaze at my back. It was a prescience that tugged my hair, demanded attention; like someone breathing down the back of my neck, or cold scissors sliding up and down, drawing blood and leaving tiger like stripes behind, all painted red.

"Kiyo-kun, hey, what are you doing here?"

I jumped, unused to being called by my last name; but I looked up from cleaning the shattered shards of Rose's tea cup. The brown liquid was soaking into my shorts; I felt the gaze that had been lingering vanish like the sun setting and plunging the world into the boundaries of darkness.

"Oh, hi, Usami-senpai. Yeah, um, Takeshi had to leave."

"Girl trouble?"

I laughed quietly and nodded. "Totally. Boy's a player."

Usami rolled her eyes and grinned. Her eyes drifted over the heads of the customers and locked onto the pair of basketball players who had now seated themselves at the opposite corner of the store. She cursed beneath her breath.

"Well if it isn't the great emperor himself," she whispered to me sarcastically, placing her tray at her hip and glaring at her customers.

I stood up, the shards gathered. "They call him the red king." I felt the gaze fall on me again, and I blushed.

She snorted. "He looks more pink to me." Usami was a skilled basketball player, but she had never been good enough. Jealousy hummed and buzzed around her. "He doesn't even look that impressive."

I had to agree; Usami stood at six foot with well rounded muscles and an intimidating aura.

"Why did they have to come here?"

I didn't reply; I only watched him; he could hear us, I was certain, but his sculptured face perceived no hints of common emotion. His eyes were lowered, reading. He folded the menu and placed it in the middle of the table.

Usami sighed. "I'm not serving him. He looks like a dick."

"I hope you mean figuratively."

She rolled her eyes. "Just go serve him, Kiyo-kun."

I sighed and dragged my feet over to the table. The dark haired one looked up and smiled; his smile warm and eyes welcoming. The red head simply kept his head down, presumably lost in thought.

"Afternoon. What can I get you?"

"What association do you have with Rose Arion?" The red head spoke, his eyes darting up to survey my face. His eyes locked onto mine and I struggled to breath. He looked me up and down, not bothering to hide his manner. His face betrayed nothing; only a cool calamity.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't want to have to repeat myself."

"I don't think that's on the menu but I can ask if you like -"

" - don't be an idiot. Answer the question." His eyes drifted back down to the table. Even seated, he commanded a cold presence that chilled me to the bone. The other boy sighed, and shifted in his chair.

"I'll order," he said.

"Reo."

"Sei-chan?" The dark haired boy asked, his head turning to his companion.

"I want her to answer the question. This is the last time I'll ask nicely. To what extent is your association with Rose?"

His eyes pierced my gaze and I could not look away. Those orbs were entrancing, and they demand attention, demanded respect from those beneath him. Akashi did not shift, and I could feel the seconds he was counting down melt away.

"Just answer him," the one called Reo sighed, as if he had seen it all before. He probably had; this conversation must've been common. My gaze moved to the friend; he was handsome and relaxed in his chair, wearing only a grey shirt that stuck to his muscles and dark shorts which betrayed his toned legs.

"She's my friend, that's all." The red and gold eyes blinked, and the owner sighed. The tension crackled; Reo sat up in his chair and turned to me, menu aloft.

"Now, about that order -"

" - would you say she really is your friend?"

Reo grimaced. The question hung in the air, and Akashi did not avert his gaze. I could feel him watching as I desperately sort another thing to look at, so I wouldn't feel the cold, heartlessness emitting from those eyes. The cafe grew silent, and with a turn of my head, I realised all the other customers had finished their meals and left.

"Answer me."

I snapped out of thought and stumbled across my words. "I just called her my friend, didn't I? What business is it of yours?"

"I see."

His gaze lingered a moment longer, and I felt imperfect. The way those eyes roamed without boundaries - I shuddered.

"Sei-chan, you should treat ladies better, even if they are waitresses."

I blushed at his statement; at this time I did not have a choice to be waitress; Reo didn't notice, nor did Akashi. Akashi had dropped his head; he was silent like a thinking beast in the cold air of the cafe, brooding with calculated thoughts drifting past his weary eyes.

(o)

The rain scattered against the ground, humming to music that was impossible to hear. Even at night, the drops of rain shone brightly, the light from the lamppost scattering and casting strange shadow puppets against the ground. They danced in the wind; the rustling of the trees echoing, even with the steady beat of the rain. Against the silvery moon that floated on storms of clouds, the rain shone. It was impossible to hear anything else; footsteps were muffled by the beat of the drums to which the world moved. Even the wind was almost vanquished in the battle for sound; the whistling was barely audible.

I didn't hear the footsteps behind me, but I felt cold hands grasp the side of my arms firmly.

I screamed.

"None of that," a seductive voice whispered tentatively in my ear. "Hold still."

The voice alone sent shivers down my spine. The voice was arrogant, and the owner's breath tickled down my neck, warm and sweet, golden and honey like, seductive but dangerous. One hand let go and trickled down my neck, gentle fingers straying loosely down my skin, goose bumps blossoming over my cold body. I could smell his honey like aroma, feel the gentle beating of the strangers heart.

I tried to turn my head to look at this stranger, but my movement was restricted by his head, which nestled into my neck. Hands slid further down, one embracing my fingers, the other sliding up my skirt, a single figure tracing patters on my thigh.

I shivered with pleasure.

The hands stopped short and the person whispered in my voice with a familiar voice.

"You're freezing."

It was Akashi. A blush crept up to the edges of my face and the dark roots of my hair.

The concern swelled in the voice. "You'll catch a cold if you don't put something on."

Something stirred within me. It wasn't longing, was it? Akashi made a move, and the swish of tailored cloth fell about my shoulders. It was a fancy jacket; tailored for the owner. It was soft and warm.

"Why are you doing this? The jacket, the – oh," I whispered, letting out a sigh of pleasure as his lips explored my neck, my voice barely audible with cold and the noise of the rain.

"Because then," Akashi whispered, his tongue on my neck, "you'll be in my debt. And to be in my debt is a very dangerous thing."


	6. Chapter 5 Part 1

**hey guys, this is just a little teaser because I actually wrote during the weekend. I love the response I got to the last chapter. Thanks to every one who reviewed, etc. you guys are my inspiration.**

* * *

**Beneath the Same Stars**

**Chapter 5 Part 1**

**V Part I**

Oh my god. _What did I do?_

My fingers touch the nape of my neck where Akashi's lips danced with poison, where his pink tongue traced circles against my white skin with the poise of a leaping panther, dangerously inhuman. I don't even know him; but I let him. and now I was in his debt. _Fuck_.

But still, I sighed, as I recalled the way his hands had wandered up and down my thigh, how I had become putty to his luscious charm. The way his breath had tickled down my back, his hair rough against my face, and the warmth of his cheek as he rested it on mine and bid me goodbye, and the way his arms had tightened with final departure.

I didn't even know him, but I swear at that moment I loved him. I moved my hand over my shoulder, remembering his gentle touch.

"Aka! Akako!"

I turned from where I had been standing at the window, facing my brother, violent red flushing across my face. I was ashamed to have been caught thinking about him.

"You alright? Why are you blushing?"

I faced the shattered window again, watching the rest of the cramped houses spread like butter below us; one room, typically. Sometimes two. "No reason."

"You're blushing for no reason?"

A small smile escaped his lips, and he pushed his shoulder length black hair out of his eyes to see me better. His eyes took in how I stood, and my fading blush.

God dammit.

"This isn't about some boy, now is it?"

"Jesus, you sound like our mother."

"Since when has _Jesus_ sounded like our mother?"

"Ass."

He chuckled, and punched me lightly on the arm. "Idiot."

"Maniac."

"Wombat." His eyes flickered over to the window, and widened in surprise. "There's someone outside for you."

I dropped the pan I had picked up and pushed him out of the way, glancing down at the road beneath our unit. I swallowed nervously. "How do you know he's for me?"

"You are a wombat, aren't you? He's in Rakuzan uniform, you ass hat."

The red head in the street below did not raise his head. He lent against the cold exterior of the Mercedes, his arms crossed and his face scrawled with determination. His uniform; as expected; was crisp. The shirt fell on his frame, the tie blowing the wind that ruffled his hair. Akashi's hands were in his pockets, and he was slouched, so unlike his usual self.

"You're blushing again," my brother whispered, his breath tickling my chin. "You match your boyfriends hair."

As if on cue, Akashi looks up; although I cannot see the detail of his eyes, I know that they are watching me. The corner of his mouth curves in thought, and his hand drifts from his pocket and he beckons me with a single, slender finger.

Shit. Shit. Shitty shit shit.

"He's not my boyfriend."

"_Sure_."

"Baka!" I change to English. "He's not my boyfriend, okay? He is not nor will he ever be my boyfriend. Leave it, okay?"

Wisely, Takeshi leaves it.

Despite my brothers help, I don't make it out the door for another fifteen or so minutes, but Akashi's face was expressionless and he didn't appear to have moved from his relaxed stance against the car.

The car that had splashed me from head to toe.

_Fuck_.

Was last night an apology?

"You kept me waiting," he whispered. I strain to hear him; as if the words aren't meant for me, but I know they are. His voice is gravitational - brooding. He's a mystery waiting to be solved. But didn't he say the same to every girl he fucked? What about afterwards, where he discarded them without apparent care, ignoring their pleas and pains, as he rolled by in his cars, ruled like the King he was?

My heart grew cold.

They say the truth always hurts; and I was waking up to it. It was slow, it was painful, a terrible, dawning realisation.

It's a bit of a harsh example, but I would say it was pretty accurate.

I tried to maintain my composure; the tears welled up. Even though it was only a thought, a drifting idea, it was painful and cruel. "Akashi. May I help you?"

He stood up and looked at me, those eyes betraying something strange. He pulled the door open noiselessly. "I'm fairly sure you should call me Akashi-senpai. I know you moved up two years in America."

Stalker. I glared at him.

He sighed, and held the door open. "It's on your file. Get in."

At loss with other options, I slipped in the car, the black leather enveloping me as I sank into the seat. It was perfectly clean; not a seatbelt out of place. There was a man dressed in black at the wheel, and he sat stiffly. He didn't acknowledge me, merely gripped the wheel tighter with his black gloved hands.

"Seatbelt," Akashi murmured, as he reached over me to fix my seatbelt into place. His hands drifted in my thigh, and his face hovered in front of mine. His eyes, today; were kinder, gentle. The red seemed to burn with passion, and the gold merely fall faint against his pearly white skin, his pink lips a gentle smile on his face.

"You know," he whispered gently, breath warm against my face, "I can speak English. I wouldn't be too sure about what you said."

I gulped, my palms beginning to sweat. Then I sat up straight and placed my hands in my lap. "And what, exactly, did I say?"

He touched my face with a careful finger and thumb, touching my cheek, and then stroking my neck. Carefully, he pulled my earlobe with his lip, then nestled in my neck, his fingers running up and down, up and down. What had I gotten myself into?

"That'd you'd never be my girlfriend."

And with that, the door closed with a click and he disappeared from view.

_Fuck._


	7. Chapter 5 Part 2

This is for **pomxxx **who always makes my day

**3 to all my readers**

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**(o)**

**Beneath the Same Stars**

**Chapter 5 Part 2**

**V II**

**(o)**

Akashi slid into the front seat of the car, adjusting in the warm leather seat. His seatbelt closed with a click, and the car rolled forward, the wheels turning quietly against the gravel, purring at the chauffeurs every touch. The chauffeur, to me, boasted interest; the Akashi family must be beyond wealthy to afford such a man as this; he didn't even look his master in the eye.

I had a feeling he couldn't. Fear rolled off him in heavy waves, and a line of sweat formed at the curve of his head.

Outside the cool interior of the car, streets rolled by at a quick pace and heads turned towards the purring panther as it slid through puddles with deadly ease.

I should say something; the silence was suffocating.

"Um."

Akashi turned towards me; his back remaining stiff, his eyes downwards as he glanced idly towards me, expressionless.

"Yes? Do you need something?"

His voice, although musical and deep, was cold. It threw me off guard, and I blushed deeply.

"I - I was just wondering why you picked me up? We didn't - "

"Don't wonder, then."

"But - "

"Leave it."

"Akashi - "

"I said, leave it."

His gaze was gone, his voice was cruel, and he turned back to the front, his face tight and his body at ill ease. His back was hunched in his chair. From the back seat, I could see the chauffeur sneak a look at him.

"Don't look at me," Akashi commanded to the driver, his voice colder than the air conditioning. "You are nothing."

I shivered in he back seat, and watched the silence hover over us, shifting and mingling with the tension until it almost crackled in the air.

The car rolled up by the empty school, not yet swarmed with students. It was eerily empty and displayed no hint of ever being full. The trees did not sway in the wind; nothing shifted over the concrete floors. The sky, once azure blue; was obscured by an array of grey clouds. The world seemed dead, just like me. I was alone with Akashi.

That's kind of shit.

The chauffeur rolled the car away, and with a blur of black and silver disappeared from the empty street. Akashi turned to me, frowning.  
"You are to obey me at once. Is that understood?"

I nodded stiffly.

"Good. I do not want to have to repeat myself. Now take off your blazer."

"My what?"

"Did you not hear what I Just said?"

He was angry, his eyes alive with malice and poison. This was the Akashi that everyone knew. This was the Akashi that haunted me. He grabbed my wrist tightly and I cried out – he pulled me closer and glared into my eyes. My heart sped up painfully and tears welled in my eyes.

"You are nothing to me. Do as I say, or I will kill you."

He meant it, and that day I knew true fear. My legs seemed to buckle, but he kept me standing, never once breaking the gaze that tore through me, crushing me. I was afraid. Hairs prickled down the back of my neck and I shuddered, a cold wave wrecking through my body, and a line of sweat dawned across my face. I shook where I stood, terrified. Shadows danced across Akashi's face, his features becoming obscured by a wave of darkness, his eyes glowing, watching, waiting.

He had scissors in his hand.

Cold, heartless scissors. Sharp.

He drew them towards me, pulling them across my face.

Death. Fear. Pain. Fire.

Fire.

Fire.

He drew the scissors down my body, across my left collarbone. He nicked my exposed skin, causing crimson blood to well up and dribble down.

"That," he whispered, his voice dangerously loud in my ear, his fist pulling on my shirt, "is for not obeying me more. Do it again, and it'll be worse."

Akashi held the scissors tighter, as you would a knife; the red handle obvious against the blue of his uniform. He moved his hand, and the blades were against my face. With lips parted, he raised it, never once moving his eyes from my face.

Suddenly, his arm was behind my head, and the warmth of blood fell down my ear. He had made a movement so fast it had been invisible to me.

I'm sure Akashi would have no problem killing me.

He's probably planned it all out in his head.

I smiled; a bizarre, crazy smile, reality distant.

His arm wrapped around my head.

Maybe he'd snap my neck.

Yes, quick and painless.

Dead in seconds.

Gone.

But then his lips latched onto my ear, and his eyes fell from my face; he licked my blood, his tongue delicate and pink, turning red. Red with my blood.

Creepy ass motherfucker.

He gave a sigh of pleasure, and buried himself into my neck. I was afraid to move. His breath tickled gently against my skin, and then he stood, wiping the remaining blood with his finger.

"Now take off your blazer," he whispered, his voice quietly demanding. I hesitated; he used his thumbs to unhook the blazer and it crumpled to the ground; still. I shivered in my thin school shirt, a wind picking up from nowhere and sailing across the courtyards of the school. My ear still stung and I was in shock.

"Roll up your sleeves," he commanded.

Did he know?

"Roll them up."

I did not want to share my scars with him.

"No."

"Do it."

I didn't move; I seemed to freeze just where I stood; swaying like a pathetic, crying child in the cold wind. Akashi examined me; his face tight; shallow emotion drifting over his face, and he was struggling to control it. His hands moved to roll up my sleeves; he was gentle, his fingers warm, his silence comforting.

Akashi raised my left palm to his lips and kissed it, flooding me with unseen warmth. He rolled my shirt sleeves up, bit by bit; his fingers gentle, warm. I withdrew my arm; fearful. What would he think of me?

He looked up; his eyes beautiful and gentle; patient. They seemed to question my fear, to tell me the irrelevance of it.

"You can do it," he whispered gently.

I believed him.

Akashi took my arm in his hands again, and pushed the sleeve up, staring at the five scars that branded my arm like battle wounds; I could never get rid of them now. His fingers traced them; dancing idly on top, up and down.

He was judging me; I was sure of it. His eyes didn't meet mine as his fingers danced on my arm; I almost begged for acceptance from those red and gold eyes. I realised how much I wanted acceptance, how much I craved it; like one who had faced rejection all her life, I needed it as a thirst. I wanted it. It seemed to taunt me.  
But could I ever be accepted?

"Akako," Akashi whispered in my ear, making me jump with nerves, "watch."

I turned back to him; his sleeve was rolled up; his left one. I knew. I knew what he was going to do.

"No, don't do it."

"I'm going to." His voice was controlled.

"No! Please!" My voice wavered and broke; tears forming in my eyes. It was almost impossible to bear.

His movement was so quick it was almost impossible to see. His scissors now turned against its owner; Akashi cut himself with the inner blade.

The blood flowed over and dribbled down his arm.

I realised I was screaming, the tears dancing madly down my face, warm and salty, just like blood. He placed his right hand over my mouth, and in could smell the fresh strawberry soap he used, and his own, honey like scent, mixing terribly with the smell of blood that spilt from his arm.

"Quiet now," he said gently, when I had stopped screaming. "Don't you realise?"

I struggled to find my voice; it seemed that I had lost it with the wind.

But then I found it, and after a few, sharp, nauseating breaths I spoke, shivering. "Realise what?"

I felt one of his fingers embrace my arm again, like extra support. He held me steady with his right arm, but forced me to watch the blood cover his pale arm, spill and pool onto the ground. The bleeding had almost stopped; but I fought the urge to vomit.

His fingers distracted me. They wove between strands of my hair, and he spoke.

"What you do...what you did," he said, his cold exterior crumbling, and something warm shining through, "it harms others more than it harms yourself."

"Don't you feel pain?"

"I don't feel pain...not anymore."

I looked at him, seeing something brewing darkly behind his eyes. He looked at me, and caught me watching. His exterior was rebuilt in a matter of seconds and he looked at me with a blank face.

"Besides, Akako. The only one allowed to hurt you is me."

He raised his left arm; I thought he was going to strike me.

"Kiss it."

"What?"

"Kiss the blood."

His tone implied warmth; his words implied sadism. Yet I bent and let my lips brush over the red blood; the salty warmth sticking to my lips. I placed my hands beneath his arm to raise it; I noticed him flinch involuntarily. It was then I noticed the bruises.

They were everywhere.

Blue, mostly. Purple in other areas, blossoming over his exposed skin on his arm, decorating like an abundance of flowers in a snow covered field. Others were cuts; terrible sores, a thousand battle wounds both mental and physical that, like me, he tried to obscure.

But I knew the truth; it dawned across my face. He was broken too.

Akashi pulled his arm away, his face paling. He cradled it, not meeting my expecting eyes.

"Why? Who?" I whispered, my voice falling flat against the cobblestones of the courtyard.

"Basketball," he muttered. "Go."

He followed his own command and left, moving into the boys bathrooms of the other side of the courtyard, no doubt to bandage his arm in the shadows of recognition. I felt a stab of remorse. Everyone expected him to be perfect, but here he was; fighting his own invisible battles against the tide of life, with no one to help him, nor to realise.

I felt a gaze at my back and flushed pink, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I turned my head, ignorant of the tears at my face. I met two blue eyes, and an uncomfortable realisation flooded me slowly.

Rose had been watching.

The entire time.

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** Please note that I do not support self harm or licking other peoples blood. They probably have Aids now.**

**I'm thinking of doing a parody of his...what do you guys think? **

**Review and I love you 3**


	8. Chapter 6

**Hey guys! So finally this is out, I sort of 'lost momentum' with this week's chapter.**

**pomxxx : do I know you? Thanks for reviewing twice :3**

**QOTC: Who is your favourite GoM and why?**

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**(o)**

**Beneath the Same Stars**

**Chapter 6**

**VI**

**(o) **

"Rose, wait - "

"You _bitch_!"

"Rose, I can explain - "

Rose turned around to face me, her blonde hair trailing down the sides of her face. Her eyes were wet with tears and anger radiated off her. Her fists were clenched, just like her pearly white teeth.

"Can you? How can you _fucking _explain?"

Her voice faltered and was lost between a wave of fresh tears, and she hung her head.

Around us, students looked with disguised interest, closing their books and their eyes darting up cohesively. My eyes fell towards them and they shifted where they were sitting beneath my gaze. I felt the seconds struggle by, and as their eyes did not fall; whispers broke out like a plague and we were engulfed in them. They built up like a wall; each direction I turned, I was greeted with silent accusations, silent judgements that bore no mercy. I looked, seeking out someone that could help me; but I had no friends, and I was alone. I had lost Rose; her trust in me had fallen and broken, like a mirror that could not be repaired. And now our friendship; a single lifeline that I had needed, craved; had vanished between the waves of distrust and anger.

I was alone.

I saw students gather to the crowd; as if more people needed to witness my painful humiliation. They knew Rose; she was their friend, their talented companion who they respected and valued. And me...they didn't know me. I was the freaky scholarship girl, a foreigner; who could only boast being Japanese from blood and ancestry. I hadn't grown up here; hadn't learnt Japanese customs. And now it came to confront me; the pain, the misfortune that was my life.

The loneliness.

A girl came forward; hate in her eyes. When she looked at me, I wished I could die. The feeling of shame that was so familiar ran through me again, and I was rooted to the spot; who was I to walk with these people? I was nothing. Nothing, invisible; worthless. My chin quivered, and I bit my lip, trying to stop the flow of tears that tried to escape my eyes. I couldn't cry; not in front of them, not in front of anyone. I had to hide my pain. They could never see it; they would judge me, critique me for being weak.

Who was I, to walk this earth and be so weak? To struggle, to fail; failure was not acceptable. I was a failure; I was shameful to my school, to those that saw me. And now here I was; nothing but shame. Lost. Alone. The girl who stood beside Rose put her arm around her shoulder, and wiped away her friends tears.

I wish I had a friend to do that to me.

But I had not friend, and now I will never have one.

Not after today.

Not after this shame.

It wasn't even my fault; but such was the nature of human condition. I stood alone; the circle of students that bore no shame in their faces encircled us.

"Bitch!"

"Slut!"

"Why don't you go and kill yourself, you two faced bitch?"

Perhaps that was it; or perhaps it was the glares, the impending stress; the loneliness that crashed down on me like a powerful wave; but the tears escaped my grasp and they slid down my face, making quick work of more jaunts and insults to escape the words of my peers. I could taste the saltiness.

I was worthless.

I was nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

"Go and kill yourself!"

Laughter.

"Nobody fucking wants you."

Jeers.

The crowd had no shame; they came at me like starving beasts; whispers turning to shouts. I wanted to vomit.

I don't know what it was that inclined me to raise my head; fear, or madness. But there I stood; my shoulders caving in and my face red. But I saw him from the corner of my eye, watching. He did not say anything; he lurked behind the students, standing on the steps. His head was hung, and he refused to meet my eyes. I watched him, hoping for something, anything I could hold onto, to help me keep my head up. I needed someone at this very moment; I needed something, anything. Otherwise...

Akashi turned away from me slowly and disappeared into the crowd, engulfing himself into the shadows of people, hiding himself.

It was a slap in the face; a fatal wound with a sharp sword.

I was truly alone.

"Kill yourself!"

"No one likes you!"

Something hit me on the head; a textbook, and it clattered to the ground with a loud bang.

That was the crowds cue; they all had to do something, to throw something at the freak, the girl who was a bitch. Such is the nature of humankind; they are compelled to do things and do not think of the consequences.

An apple hit me on the head; then a volleyball, and a teacup.

The tears fell faster, like angels wanting to go home; unable to bear the time of life, and in pain they fell; alone, certain. The blood joined then; the teacup had cut my face, and blood trickled down, the pain causing me to wail.

The blood was warm, and it mingled with the tears.

I turned, a last wail piercing the hall, and I ran, leaving my bag and my books behind. A nosebleed had formed; a wreck with tears and blood, I was alone. I was abandoned; I had no one. Not even myself.

The taunts and jeers did not stop.

The voices became colder.

I was alone. I ran outside, the rain falling heavily onto me. The blood washed into my shirt and blazer, turning pink. The rain flattened my hair, and in the grey colour of the sky, I could see nothing. No one had followed me; to beg me to reconsider.

I remembered the cry. The crowd wanting me to die, wanting me to end my life.

Who knows?

Maybe today would be the day I would die.

Maybe today would be the day I lose the battle that I have always struggled with.

No one wants me.

I am a burden, I am shame; I do not deserve to live anymore.

I am so alone.

I fall to my knees; I howl, I curse at the sky, the rain only falling harder, soaking me to the core. It is beautiful, but in a terrible way, the melodic fall of the rain. It made me ache, the beauty; the way that the trees shuddered in the wind; the way that I could hear the violins from the music class pick up and be carried by the wind; the way that the grass waved to and fro; the way that the leaves drifted and fell; the way the world seemed to be stuck in an eternal, beautiful and foreboding dance.

It saddened me that this would be the day I died.


	9. Chapter 7

**(o)**

**Beneath the Same Stars**

**Chapter 7**

**VII**

**(o)**

The rain did not stop. It fell, with the leaves of autumn; the sky grey with heavy clouds, and silence drifted between the gravestones of the church courtyard. It was empty; no one watched over the gravestones, no one bent to touch the letters that were engraved onto the rock; no one placed flowers at the tombstone. It seemed only the cold air kept the dead company; it whistled over the stones and ruffled the yellowing grass in a saddened manner. White flower petals that had recently fallen shifted and rolled over, carried by the quiet, mournful wind, and although the rain pushed them down, they got up again and moved on, leaving the past behind. And although they danced around the tombstones, and although they sought company which they never found, they kept flying, like graceful dancers who had been lifted off their feet by the very memory and promise of dance, which fell when tragedy breached their silken walls; yet sought onward, to something better. It was again the petals moved to some unseen beat, mingling with autumn leaves that glinted gold with the promise of sunshine, that kept hope whilst all else was lost. Even though the wind and rain beat them down, they drifted still, an eternal beauty against nature; something so still, so perfect, yet the world was still with danger, and fear; it mingled in the air, like ashes that burnt again, despite the fire dying; like context that fought back even when evil had been defeated; it lurked.

There was a sense of loneliness over the gravestones. The cold colour did not display who they had been in life; only now that life was gone, all that remained was words on rock. The pain of losing someone sunk over the shadows, and hid. It ebbed in the darkness, a monster of our own creation. But they had gone to a place that they could not return from; only death could grace their presence. The emptiness of the site was painful; as if no one cared to visit, as if no one cared for the dead. As if no one remembered there laugh, as if no one remembered who they were, or who they had been.

It was as if they couldn't remember the way her eyes flashed in the light, or her smile lit up her face even on the darkest of lights. It was as if no one remembered her fight with death, how she had tried to hold on, tried but failed. It was as if no one could remember how she fell, how she tried to hold her scream in so they wouldn't feel fear. It was as if no one could recall how she could dance, how the moonlight would fall on her hair and she would smile and sing, her voice like an angels, how it could touch your heart and open your eyes. It was as if no one cared.

But someone did care, and they walked the path to the tombstone with somber grace. Tears fell down their face as they walked slowly, one step at a time, the pain of loss visible, and the pain of death a shadow that clung. They knelt by the gravestones, and placed a simple crown of daises on the wet grass.

They stood, using the gravestone as support, their hand shaking uncontrollably, the tears like diamonds against their face. They licked their dry lips, as if trying to speak.

"Goodbye," they said, caressing the gravestone.

They turned, as if to walk away. They looked once more over their shoulder, a look with so much pain it was impossible to bear.

They said one more thing. It was a strange thing to say, but as the words carried in the wind, we know their sense of regret.

"I wish," they said, "I wish you could be free."

But we are free in death. We are free to fly, to grace the sky with our fingertips. We are free to dance with the waves, to ride for a thousand summers, to sing with our hearts and no longer fear the shadows. We are free to love, to remember, we are free from the burden of life. We are free from the pain of memories that lurk, scars; we are free to dance with the stars in a never ending duet with the night, we are free to love the day without fear; we are free.

Goodbye.


	10. Chapter 8

**Hello, everyone! I didn't really get the response I wanted last week, and I apologise for the delay in this chapter coming out. I am pleased to announce that there will be a sequel coming out when this story is completed, as well as '_Tiger_' featuring Kagami, '_Love to Hate You,' _featuring Nico di Angelo and _'Double Trouble,' _which I'm planning on releasing soon, featuring Aomine.**

* * *

**(o)**

**Beneath the Same Stars**

**Chapter 8**

**VIII**

**(o)**

The sound of broken piano could be heard all over the courtyard. It rustled the leaves and the petals of the cherry blossom tree. It moved between the droplets of rain that danced from the clouds above; it chased the green leaves that turned gold; it carried over the emptiness of the school, slow and haunting, each key clear, each note a different story. As the music seemed to sink beneath the waves, long fingers moved quietly over the keys, telling what they could not; and showing what had to be shown.

The girl sat there, tears in her eyes, memory of her mother fresh; as the music reached its peak, and fell again, so did she; she became absorbed by the music; she could not feel the touch of ivory against her rough, white hands; she could not feel the tears on her face; she could not feel the pain of life that burdened her.

Not when the music was here; it carried her troubles away.

Her fingers began to slow on the keyboard; the music a piece of such perfection that it could have brought tears to those who had listened; just like stories of the broken bring tears to those who listen.

But now the music fades; and like an aching beast the truth awakens, and it is cruel; the truth that she is alone, the truth that her best friend is dead; and dead by her doing.

The music is gone, and all that remains is a terrible, painful silence. Her fingers ache to play again in the cold light of clouds, but she does not. She cannot; for the piece that dancers on the tip of her fingers, the tip of her tongue, is too painful, too real; an ode to a friend that does not walk the earth.

But she plays, and she weeps.

Her tears are warm.

They dribble down her face, carefree from that troubles that caused them; because when the music plays, she is flying; flying with wings so great she does not need to land, soaring above the tips of the mountains and along the stretch of rivers, above the tops of trees so golden with autumn; above the ice that scatters down streets and in the warm summer rain.

When she plays, there is hope.

Alone in the tiny music room, at the piano in the middle of the room, her fingers gliding like birds across the ivory caps, she is free; but when she stops playing, she knows that she will be ensnared again, she knows that she will fall to their will again, the people that hate her; she knows that she will succumb to their hatred.

She knows that she will die.

Her fingers stop their dance; they crash onto the piano, a muse of noise scattering over the empty school grounds, shattering the beautiful cover that had fallen over them. And now it is broken, just like she is.

Her head snaps up when she knows she is being watched.

"Akako," the voice says, and she turns her head, but it is drooped; to be seen crying, to be seen in such a state, where her name is disgraced; shame upon her, perhaps, but she would protect the honour of her family. What little honour they had left. "Akako."

The boy is in the shadows; his face is hidden, but he speaks with such pain; he speaks with such understanding even with two small, insignificant words that she can already feel herself succumb to his gentle voice.

"You play so beautifully," he says, moving from that shadows; light is cast onto his features and he smiles. The smile gives her hope. His hand reaches out and ensnares her in an embrace; although they are strangers it is what she needs. She needs someone when she has no one. He touches her hair gently; black, like the night; or the raven of which she is fond of; he wipes the tears from her eyes and lifts her chin up with his warm, gentle hands. "But you are sad."

Despite her best attempts, a new roll of tears fall out, and he does not stop them, only watch them with pain on his face; as if to see her suffering is as if suffering himself. The truth is always painful; even if it is insignificant like an emotion; it hurts to hear it said.

She is ashamed of herself; she stands, and bows, never raising her head. She turns to go; to slide out the door; to vanish into the mist, to never return. But his voice stops her.

But it is not his voice; it is the music he plays, it is the way his hands move, it as if he speaks with music; as if that is his language, and he has finally, _finally, _found someone who speaks the same way.

As if he has finally found someone.

The music is dark; but it has a touch of hope, and soon the sound of hope echoes over the room; louder than the rain, louder than the jeers of classmates, louder than Akako calling for her death. It is then she knows she must live; it is then she knows that she must keep going.

The boy at the piano does not look up when he is playing. His head is down, yet she can see him become the music; the way the notes carry him away. His fingers dance with such beauty and such outstanding care that she is moved; and she knows she will not forget him.

She knows that she cannot forget him, that to do so would be impossible; for when someone picks you up when you have fallen, that you can never forget that; that you cannot forget the way your heart became theirs, and that you felt you could never be as good as they; only to watch them and remember, but to live a different way; to seek hope and happiness.

The music fades; but she is saved. The boy does not raise his head, and his fingers hover over the keys; but beneath his black hair, she can see a smile dawn on his face.

"Thank you," she says, "thank you Mibuchi-kun."

"Please," he says, "call me Reo."

* * *

**So guys! Does anyone have any questions for Akako? I'll answer them with the next chapter.**

**QOTC: Out of all of the Generation of Miracles, who would you be most likely to date/be good friends with?**


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